


Not so bad mistakes

by Spnfandom8



Category: Batman - Fandom, Criminal Minds
Genre: Child Neglect, Concerned BAU, Found Family, Hurt Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Needs Help, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Protective Jason Todd, Protective Penelope Garcia, and he gets it, surprise baby sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27085819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spnfandom8/pseuds/Spnfandom8
Summary: when Jason Todd ends up with a responsibility he wasn't ready for he goes to his best friend, Penelope Garcia, for help.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	Not so bad mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy. :)

“Garcia! I need to see Penelope Garcia. Okay? Understood? Thank you.” I snap, trying to keep my voice even in an attempt not to scare the child in my arms.   
“Listen man, I have no idea who you are or how you got up here. I need you to tell me who you are and why you need to see Garcia.” the man says, his voice even and calm as he answers me, causing a growl to rumble through my chest, the sound more animal than human.   
“Jason. Jason Todd. Please just go tell her that I need her. Now. it’s important.” I say, reeling in my frustration and suppressing my panic.   
“Alright. Prentiss, keep an eye on him.” he says, speaking to the woman who’s watching on with a wary expression from a few feet away.   
“Yeah, I’ve got this.” she says. I let out a sigh as he walks away, leaving me with the suspicious woman, who’s hand keeps drifting towards her hip, where her gun is currently holstered.   
“Listen. I’m not gonna do anything. I just need to speak with Garcia.” I tell her, reaching around and into my back pocket for my wallet so I can show her my ID. I don’t need any more trouble, especially not with my newly discovered baby sister sitting restlessly in my arms. I toss my wallet across the few feet separating us, watching as she catches it and pulls out my ID. A fake ID, but my ID just the same. This is the one that says I’m twenty three, not seventeen. And seeing as the city of Gotham has lost and screwed up my records so many times, they don’t even know how old I am, and happily handed the baby in my arms over to me when I showed up with ID.   
She spends a few uncomfortable moments looking over my ID before finally nodding and handing it back.   
“Jason?” I hear a familiar voice call from across the room, and I sigh in relief.   
“Thank fuck G, I thought I was gonna have to tear this fucking city apart looking for you.” I say, striding past the agents who all seem to be gathering in the bullpen to make sure I’m not here to hurt their tech analyst.   
As soon as I'm within arms reach of Garcia, I gently thrust the baby out for her to take, needing a moment to let the tension roll through my body without scaring her. “Take her please” I spit out, my words sounding suspiciously like begging. Thankfully, she takes the baby with ease, cooing softly to her as I back up into the nearest wall and slide down it, hooking my arms over my knees and letting the spiking panic run its course, letting my muscles seize and relax in sporadic patterns.   
“Hey, hey. Jason. Look at me kiddo, come on. Look at me.” Garcia encourages, and I take a deep breath, trying to regulate my panic response before meeting her eyes.   
“What’s wrong baby? Who’s kid is this?” she asks, standing a few feet from me with concern firmly affixed to her face.   
“M’not a fuckin baby.” I mutter, knowing that it won’t stop her from attaching every possible cutesy pet name to me.   
“Who’s kid Jase?” she asks again, ignoring my statement, just as I knew she would.   
“Apparently, she’s my baby sister. She’s three. Her name is Karma. My mother was, of course, high as a fucking kite through the pregnancy, and she was premature. She also had to detox after she was born and almost fucking died. Twice. Which is why she’s so goddamn tiny.” I spit out, regurgitating the facts that her social worker told me only a few hours ago when I was called about her existence.   
“Oh, and my mother is dead, which is how I found out about her.” I tell her, ignoring the fact that I’m also telling a bunch of other nosy ass fucking profilers.   
“Oh, Honey. It’s gonna be alright. You wanna tell me why you’re so upset right now though?” she says, and I can feel a sob creeping up my throat, but I push it down, determined not to let it escape.   
“I don’t fucking know how to take care of anyone G, not myself, and especially not a three year old girl. I-I don’t know what the fuck to do. I don’t have a routine, I’m a borderline alcoholic, I have rage issues and PTSD and nobody can even sleep in the same room as me without being in danger. Half of my weekly income is from fucking cage fighting, there’s usually someone looking to kill me and I just, I can’t do this. I’ve never not been a fuck up, and I can’t fucking do this. I really don’t have a choice in the matter though, do I? I’m the only family she’s got, and there’s no way I’m putting her in foster care.” I tell her, spearing my fingers through my hair and pulling hard enough that pain sparks through my scalp like lightning, grounding and calming me.   
I release a shuddering breath when she crouches down in front of me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and squeezing me. I take those few moments with my face buried in her shoulder to calm my racing heart and my spiralling thoughts, sending a smile her way as she pulls herself to her feet before extending a hand my way.  
Once I'm on my feet again, I see that a man in his fifties is holding Karma, smiling softly when she giggles, running her hands through the stubble on his jaw.   
His name is David Rossi, he’s a good cop, and a good man, which is the only reason I'm allowing him to continue to hold my baby sister. My protective instincts screaming at me to protect her from anything and everything.   
“Alright, Kiddo. Why don’t you and I take the baby back to my apartment. You can stay for a few days, we’ll figure everything out, talk to your brothers and dad. We’ll see what we can get figured out, okay?” she asks, and I can feel the tension seeping from my bones at her words. “Yeah, okay.” I respond, a sudden rush of exhaustion slamming through my system and making my shoulders turn in, my knees want to buckle, and my eyelids droop.   
“How long have you been awake Jason?” the other agent, Prentiss, asks.   
“Um, shit. Nine days, I think. Yeah, around nine.” I answer, suddenly feeling every single one of those days racked up against my body and my mind.   
“How did you get here?” Penelope’s boss, Aaron Hotchner asks me, a hard edge to his voice.   
“I took the train, I was too keyed up to drive with a baby in the back.” I answer, watching as Karma twists around in Rossi’s arms to search for where my voice is coming from, a sob hitching in her throat when she can’t seem to find me.   
“Jason!” she calls out, although it sounds more like “yason” coming from her mouth.   
“I’m right here darling” I answer, striding forward to where Rossi stands to take the now almost hysterical toddler from his arms and into mine, where she proceeds to bury her face into my neck, wetting the collar of my shirt with snot and tears as she tries to calm herself down.   
“You’re alright baby, it’s okay. You’re fine.” I murmur into her ear, rocking slightly back and forth to calm her down.   
“She seems to be quite attached, for only knowing you a few hours” Rossi comments.   
“Knowing my mother, she wasn’t living in the most affectionate or loving of homes. My bet is that she was neglected, and depending on the flavor of the week, abused. I couldn’t really say for sure though. The most I can hope for is that she won’t remember any of this when she grows up. My earliest memories are from five, so.” I shrug at that, hoping beyond hope that whatever my little sister has been through, hasn’t been traumatic enough for her to carry it with her for the rest of her life. That she’ll forget it as she grows.   
“... Jason?” Morgan asks, a hesitance to his voice that wasn’t there before.   
“What?” I ask, shifting my weight so I can look his way, although when I do, he isn’t looking at my face, he’s staring at my torso. I glance down myself, cringing when I see red blooming across the fabric, remembering where I was and what I was doing before Social Services called me about Karma. I grunt in recognition, not sure what he wants me to do about it.   
“Jason, are you okay?” Penelope asks, a note of fear in her voice.   
“Yeah, I was in the middle of patching myself up when I got the call about Karma.” I tell her.   
“Can you show me, please?” she asks, her voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, sure.” I answer, shifting Karma and waiting to see if she’ll wake up if I move her. She doesn’t so much as flutter her eyelids, so I gently hand her over to Penelope.   
I then shrug my jacket off before pulling up the hem of my tee shirt, revealing the black and purple bruising on the right side of my ribs, the scratch marks across my abdomen, and the bullet wound that comes a little too close to hitting my hip bone for comfort.   
“Possible concussion, one cracked rib, scratches across my abdomen, extensive bruising, and one bullet wound just above my hip bone. Through and through, needs disinfectant, stitches, and a bandage. Nothing to do about the concussion, the rib, or the bruising. The scratches were already cleaned thoroughly.” I report, having gone through this too many times with Bruce before.   
“Shit Jason, why didn’t you go to the hospital?” Penelope asks. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.  
“First of all, none of my injuries require a hospital visit. Second of all, I’ve got a reputation at the hospitals in Gotham, no matter how good my ID is, they’ve been treating me since I was a kid. They know how old I am. And they call my Bruce. every. single. time.” I tell her, huffing out a breath of frustration.  
“Wait wait wait. How old are you?” Prentiss asks “because your ID said that you were twenty three.” she says, and I sigh, rolling my eyes to the ceiling.   
“I don’t like your coworkers G, not gonna lie.” I tell her, imagining how much smoother this conversation would have gone had they not been here. Had G actually been home, instead of at work. Had I had the self control to simply wait at her apartment for her to come home.   
“How old” Prentiss reiterates, and I cock a brow at her, not liking the direction this conversation is taking.   
“Seventeen.” I answer.   
“I’m sorry, but I think what we should be focusing on, more than his age, is who shot him?” JJ says, a concerned look etched into the lines of her face.   
“It’s none of your concern who shot me. The only reason I'm here is because I needed to talk to my best friend. I was sort of on the cusp of a fucking panic attack. I’m sorry you all got dragged into my bullshit. I’d like to leave now.” I say, regretting everything that’s been said in front of a bunch of fucking profilers.   
“Jason, they’re my friends, family. They are good people.” Penelope says.   
“Good people or not, I don’t know them and they don’t know me. I shouldn’t have come here. I wasn’t thinking clearly. There is nothing stopping them from fucking me over with everything I’ve said. They have leverage now. Freely given leverage. Fuck.” I growl, everything I've revealed suddenly slamming into me. Now that the panic has receded, now that on top of the pain and exhaustion, I don’t have panic clouding my brain, I can see just how badly I’ve fucked up.   
“They aren’t going to do anything Jason. The thing stopping them from fucking you over is me, okay? I would never let anyone hurt you. You are my family. My little brother. Maybe not biologically, but when has that really mattered? Huh?” Penelope says.   
I stay silent, not wanting to tell her that no matter how much I love and trust her, it’ll never be enough to make me put my faith in anyone else. That no matter how much she means to me, I don’t have enough trust left in my body to extend it to people that she trusts. That I’ve got issues up to my fucking eyeballs and that trust is never something that i’ll be able to take on the word of someone else. No matter who they are, what they mean to me, or how much I trust them.   
“How about we get you patched up, yeah?” Morgan says, and I nod, collecting my jacket from where I tossed it, and digging through one of the hidden pockets to find my med kit.   
I pull out some alcohol, a needle and thread, and a bandage. JJ steps forward then and offers to stitch me up, but I wave her off, not wanting anyone touching me at the moment. I pull my shirt off over my head and then perch my ass on the edge of the desk, leaning back slightly and balling my shirt up on the exit wound to prevent alcohol and blood from getting all over the desk and floor.   
I then pour the alcohol into the bullet hole, breathing through the liquid fire burning it’s way through my side, my hand gripping the edge of the desk. Once that’s over I pour the remaining alcohol over the needle, thread, and my hands, before I start the first stitch, ignoring how the pull of the thread through my skin makes me feel just a little nauseous.   
My hands work separately from my brain, and it’s almost therapeutic, letting my hands work as my mind drifts off into oblivion, it doesn’t take long to suppress the negative feelings about the stitches, to push away the sting of the needle through my skin, and the pull of the thread. I review the last few hours in my mind, cataloging where I went wrong and making mental notes on what not to do again. I appreciate the silence from the group, my mind settled by the soft breathing from Karma as she sleeps soundly against Penelope's shoulder.   
I reach a crossroads when I finish up the stitches on the front of my side, knowing that I’ll have to ask someone to do the back, or risk tearing my brand new stitches trying to do it myself.   
“You know how to do stitches?” I ask, directing my attention to JJ, seeing as she’s the one who offered to do them earlier.   
“Yes, they aren’t the neatest, but they’ll hold,” she says, sending a gentle smile my way.   
“That’s fine. Mine aren’t the straightest either.” I tell her, watching as she crosses the room to go wash her hands. Honestly, I would prefer to have Tim or Alfred do my stitches, considering they have the neatest, straightest stitches, and they’re the least likely to scar. Not that that really makes a difference, considering how fucking covered in scars I already am. They criss cross across each other, turning once smooth skin into a scarred mass of discomfort.   
I flinch when warm hands settle onto my back, surveying the wound. “Sorry” she murmurs, obviously not having intending to startle me. “It’s fine. Not your fault.” I tell her, knowing that normal people don’t react to touch like that, that it’s really just my fucked up head taking every moment of unseen human contact as a direct threat.   
“Whose fault is it then?” she asks softly, and I almost shrug, but then I stop myself, deciding that i’ve already dug myself a deep enough hole, that answering this question truthfully isn’t really gonna hurt anything.   
Seeing as the bullet wound is on the left side, I lift my right hand to my head, tapping twice on my temple before dropping it again.   
Nobody says anything after that, and I don’t have the energy to try to figure out what they’re thinking based on body language and expressions, so I keep my gaze focussed on the floor, letting JJ work on the wound.   
Once I'm all patched up, JJ sticks the bandage over the stitches, and I stick one over the front before pulling my jacket back on and tucking my now ruined shirt into the back pocket of my jeans.   
“Why don’t we head to my apartment now, yeah?” Penelope says, obviously seeing just how exhausted I am right now, how much I need some sleep, some food, and someplace where I don’t have to constantly be on guard.   
“You can have tomorrow off, Garcia” Hotchner says, not even waiting for her to ask.   
“We’ll drop by tomorrow to see how everyone’s doing.” JJ says, causing a ball of anxiety to form in my chest.   
“Jason. Listen to me.” JJ says, waiting for me to raise my gaze to meet hers before continuing.   
“We don’t want to take your sister away from you, it’s obvious that you are already very protective of her. It’s also obvious that you don’t trust easily. That’s okay. We just want to help you. If there’s anything we can do to help you, we will. It’s easy to see that you are a good kid, that you want to do right by her, you just need a little bit of help. Garcia is like family to us, and we would never do anything to hurt her, and that means that we won’t do anything to hurt you. Seven minds is better than one, and if you’ll let us, we’d like to help you.” she says, and I’m not really sure how to feel about that.   
“Why?” I whisper, unsure as to why they want to help me. I can understand why they wouldn’t want to inadvertently hurt Penelope, but to help me? A guy they met less than an hour ago? It doesn’t make sense.   
“Because it’s obvious that you’ve been through a lot. It’s obvious that you’re hurting. And if Garcia trusts you, if she wants to help you, then so do we. We take care of our own, and Garcia is ours. If that means helping you too, then so be it.” she says, and I furrow my brows, still unsure about their motives, but then again, my only other option right now would be to go back to Gotham, to my brothers and to Bruce, and as much as I love them, they aren’t what I need right now. I need Penelope. I guess if she comes with a team of profilers determined to help me, I've just got to deal with it.   
“Alright.” I murmur, conceding to her point, even though I'm not exactly on board with it.   
I can feel the relief in the room like a weight lifted, although I'm not exactly sure why these people are so relieved.   
After an awkward silence, Garcia hands Karma back to me, before going back to her office to grab her bag and keys, and a few minutes later finds us in her car, on the way to her apartment.   
“We’re gonna figure everything out, Jason. I promise.” Penelope says as we pull out of the parking lot, and although I don’t entirely agree with her, I nod my head, sending a weak smile her way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? good? bad? meh? lemme know what you think. :)


End file.
